


Bad Form

by GlitteringBauble



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Age Difference, Future Fic, M/M, Peter Pan - Freeform, Slow Burn, Swordfighting, adult Bart, bort, cast in the same show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:39:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitteringBauble/pseuds/GlitteringBauble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After almost a decade of not seeing one another, "Sideshow" Bob Terwilliger and Bart Simpson are cast as Captain James Hook and the title character in a production of Peter Pan in Chicago. Past vendettas aside, due to extreme stubbornness, neither will forfeit their role. Definitely inspired by the wonderful short piece "Which is Beatrice?" by DoreyG. http://archiveofourown.org/works/398588?view_adult=true</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on this for awhile, I don't normally write but I really wanted to read something for this ship that wasn't underage or non-con, and I was having trouble finding much. I work in a theater and I see a lot of shows, but I could definitely do with a Beta who would know a bit more about behind the scenes stuff, like the process of rehearsal. But hell, anyone who’s interested and would let me bounce ideas off them would be appreciated. Obviously I'm doing research of my own, but a second pair of eyes is always nice. Constructive criticism is also appreciated.
> 
> If you've seen this before, it's because I posted a snippet on my nsfw tumblr. More to come.

Robert gaped in horror at the abomination sitting in his inbox. 

 **Subject:** Cast List Announced for The John Wilke's Booth Theatre Production of Peter Pan: The Boy Who Would Not Grow Up.

Of course, it was not the subject line that was the problem. After opening it, before he could even register the contents of the email, it assaulted him. That name, no, before even the name. Those first four letters alone were enough to annihilate his mental well-being. The surrounding language blurred as the offending script burned itself into his retinas.

_Bartholomew J. Simpson_

Every muscle in his body clenched involuntarily, but slowly, he willed himself to exhale. A few more scattered words began to take shape.

_Peter Pan - Bartholomew J. Simpson_

_Wendy Darling - Erika Kapler_

_Tiger Lily - Jessica Nguyen_

_Mr. Darling/Captain Hook - Robert Terwilliger_

That was as far as he made it through the list before having to stop again. After recovering from a temporary state of shock, and taking several deliberate sips of mint tea, he read the rest of the message before allowing the true gravity of the situation to sink in. Of course, he could always forfeit the role. He'd certainly be saving himself a great deal of unpleasantness. 

But of course, he knew he wouldn't.

He wanted the role, Damnit! It was the world premier of a new script and score, and the playwright had actually managed to coax some real depth out of the story. He knew he could play the part and he knew damn well he could do it better than any other two-bit hack in Chicago. The script was good, but Robert could make this production, he was sure of it. And besides all that, if he didn't take the role Bart would know why, and he would know why, and as unbearable as the prospect of seeing the little mongrel again was, the other option he could not live with. Fortune had trampled him enough, he wasn't prepared to give up this fight so easily. 

And who knew? With any luck the Simpson boy would be even more horrified by the revelation than he was, and withdraw himself. This thought almost cheered him, until he remembered how utterly preposterous it was. Though he'd managed to elicit a good deal of fear from the boy in the past, there was no way the little bastard would ever concede the opportunity to make his life hell.

Oddly, he wasn't as surprised as he should have been. It seemed no matter what direction he tried to steer his life, there would always be the snag in his sail, and more often than not, it was a  spiky-haired, impudent one. It was all some great cosmic joke, he supposed, but here he was again, ready to step on the proverbial rake.

_Rehearsal begins Monday April 20th at 11:00am, Rehearsal Room 104 on the 1st floor._

It was going to be a long bloody nine weeks.

\---

Monday the 20th reared its ugly head and a drawn, paler-than-usual Sideshow Bob found himself standing outside the door to the rehearsal room at precisely 10:59, thermos in hand. For a man who had always prided himself on his smooth demeanor, he was uncharacteristically shaken. It had been years since he'd seen the boy, how many he didn't want to dwell on. He'd spent the weekend before rehearsal vacillating wildly between righteous fury and existential terror and though in the end fury had won out, he was deeply regretting his decision to show up.

He pressed his ear against the wood of the door, searching for any sign of that familiarly grating voice. 

"Hi! Here for rehearsal, then?"

Robert nearly jumped out of his oversized shoes. He whirled around, embarrassed, to find himself facing a short, cheery-looking brunette in blue. He gaped at her momentarily.

"Well, I mean, obviously, yeah, that was a stupid question, sorry. It's cool, I've totally done that before. Listening in, I mean." She gave a nervous laugh. "You know someone else in the production, then?" 

Robert took a split second to regain his composure, shooting her a calculated sheepish smile. 

"Oh, pardon me. I was just checking if I had arrived too early, I didn't want to be the first one in." He answered her, hoping it sounded plausible.

"Oh, yeah, totally, I gotcha. That's always kind of weird… I'm Erika, by the way!" she stuck a hand out eagerly. Ah, he thought. This was Wendy. He'd of course researched her already, as well as everyone else on the cast list. From what he could find she was a couple years out of college and been in some reputable productions, though not often as a major role.

"Charmed. Robert." He said, taking her hand gently. He shook it, making a point to hold it for just a moment too long. As he broke contact, her eyes darted down nervously. _God, people were so easy._

"Right! Haha. So, did you hear anything?"

"Yes, actually. So I suppose at this point it's safe to enter." 

She grinned. "Awesome, I'm so excited! I've never worked at JWB before, but I've seen loads of stuff here, it'll be cool to see it from the other side." She pushed on the door.

"Alright, I'm goin' in!" she gave a little mock salute with two fingers as she opened it.

"After you," he said with a small smile. Already he could tell she was going to be one of those fresh-faced, insufferably enthusiastic ingenue-types. Still, she could be valuable ally to cultivate in what was certain to be an utter clusterfuck of a production.

It was not that the company wasn't decent, of course he would never have auditioned had that been the case. The director he was in fact already familiar with, and her work was quite good. But considering whom they'd cast as the lead… Things were sure to get interesting.

The first meeting began uneventfully enough. Sitting in a circle of fold out chairs, introductions were made, policies were gone over, forms were signed, questions were asked. Bob was hardly paying attention though, as the minutes ticked by and the cast began to comment about the conspicuous absence of Peter Pan. The tension was unbearable. Was he just late, or had the cosmos for once smiled on Robert Terwilliger and had the little snag dropped out? Or perhaps been mangled en route in some terrible traffic accident? He smiled dreamily at the thought.

Honestly, he'd been so anxious and enraged about the whole thing he'd hardly considered the outlandish circumstance of Bartholomew J. Simpson appearing in a professional theatre production. True, he hadn't seen the boy in years, but Bart Simpson with a career in the arts, memorizing lines, learning blocking? It was laughable. At the behest of his therapist he had stopped keeping tabs on Bart long ago, but could he really have changed that much? And what was the little miscreant doing in Chicago? Though, that part wasn't so outlandish, he recanted. It was the nearest sizable city to Springfield, and that little hell-hole could have only held the interest of a boy like Bart for so long. 

As he continued his speculation, the door opened with a creak, drawing the attention of the room. Robert's stomach twisted in dread.

In casually walked a young man in a baggy white t-shirt tucked into highwaisted blue jeans. The room was silent as the assembled cast looked on in annoyance. 

Of course. Of course he was just late, it was so perfectly characteristic of the boy to land the lead role in a production and show up late to the first rehearsal. Bob inwardly kicked himself for having the audacity to hope that for once in his life things were going to work out in his favor.

"Real sorry I'm late, bike got a flat tire." Bart smiled disarmingly. There were a couple of eye-rolls and a pronounced sigh from the crowd. Bob was silently staring a hole through him. The director, a dark haired, serious looking woman in her thirties, drew her mouth into a thin line.

"We'll bring you up to speed. I think now would be a good time for a coffee break, anyway. Fifteen minutes, everyone. When you return we'll be running lines. " She stated, curtly. A few of the actors exchanged knowing looks. She took Bart aside while the rest of the cast dissipated, some already forming clusters and whispering amongst each other. 

Robert looked on as the director, Eva Colt, escorted Bart to the other side of the room where another crew member gave him some papers and looked to be in the process of explaining what they had gone over thus far. The boy- No, he should stop calling him that- Bart, who now looked to be in his early twenties, was instantly recognizable as the child who'd tormented him so many years ago. At the same time, seeing him as an adult was certainly surreal. His hair was still spiked up in front, albeit more artfully, but he had grown some squared off sideburns as well. He was still somewhat short, around 5'4 he would guess, but he'd lost his baby fat and had an overall compact, if not muscular, look about him. Grudgingly Bob observed that he was an overall attractive young man, and had probably never had to work for it. Well, wasn't fortune kind to her favorites?

Though he wasn't sure what they were saying with so many other people talking in the room, he could tell Bart was trying to curry favor with the director. From the look on her face Robert got the impression she was not going to be won over by boyish charm. Thank god.

"So that's Peter, huh?" Once again, Erika had snuck up on him.

"I suppose." Robert replied, witheringly.

"Do you guys know each other or something?"

Robert considered his words carefully, "We've met."

"Yeah, I kinda got that impression, he keeps looking over here at you."

Robert's eyes shot back toward Bart just long enough to confirm that statement. Bart flashed him a devilish grin.

"If you'll excuse me." Robert got up and walked out of the room as swiftly he could manage without looking like a lunatic. He wasn't sure if he needed a cigarette or a vomit bag.

"Sure." Erika watched him leave, feeling she had missed something.

\---

Fortunately for Bob, he _had_ only needed a cigarette. Outside the building he smoked furiously. He couldn't believe the audacity of the little maniac. What kind of person smiled at the man who had made countless attempts on his life? It made him want to murder the boy all over again. 

 _No_ , no. It didn't, he reminded himself. He had made progress. So much progress. Now was not the time to throw away years of counseling, of stability, of work. 

He would get through this, damnit, come hell or high water. One day at a time.

\---

Honestly? Bart had been more than a little shaken when he saw the cast list. While it was true he hadn't seen Sideshow Bob in a very long time, despite his release from prison five years ago, that he would have been cast opposite Bart in a show. (What the hell was Bob even doing in Chicago? The last time he'd checked the guy had been in Vermont…) was just a bit too perfect a coincidence. And really, as Captain James Hook to his Peter Pan? The whole fated enemies thing just reeked of Bob. Although, on second thought, maybe it was a bit too campy, even for the ex-clown.

Regardless. Bart had thought about it a lot and he wasn't going to drop out of this thing. If he did, Bob would know why and he wasn't about to give that sick bastard the satisfaction. It wasn't that Bart had been particularly keen on the role, Peter Pan was honestly a bit structured for his taste, but again, if he withdrew it would mean defeat at the hands of his old enemy, and he just couldn't stomach that. Besides that, as Lisa had pointed out, the pay was better than his weird little avant-garde shows and it'd be a major boost to his career.

That being said, the morning of the first rehearsal he may have had a small case of cold feet. He'd barely slept a wink the night before, and as a result he woke up late and had to race out the door past 11. At least his bike was reliable, not that he'd be telling the company that.

He wouldn't have even been in this whole stupid mess if it hadn't been for Lisa. She was friends with the conductor of the show and insisted that he audition, saying he was perfect for the role. Despite being totally under qualified, he'd succumbed to her pestering, never expecting it to actually lead anywhere. And look how well that had turned it out. Well, that was life, wasn't it?

He'd beaten Bob before. All he had to do was be vigilant and keep cool. He may have been able to intimidate him as a kid, but he was an adult now, and if Bob thought he could scare him off so easily he had another thing coming. Hell, when Bart was through, Bob would be the one withdrawing from the show in terror.

\---

The cast regrouped, and after a few more announcements it was on the first line reading. Bob delivered the script with droll reserve or chilling malice when it was called for. He had a quick memory for lines and was already ahead of the rest of the cast on that front. The rewrite cast James Hook in a much more serious light, though still borrowing elements of the original. Thankfully the dreadful puns and strangely dated jokes had been stripped away. Bob felt he brought out a certain tragedy in the character.

"Oh fame! Thou glittering bauble, in searching for thee what fame have I not lost?" It was not so hard to feign anguish. Perhaps at times the script hit a bit close to home.

Though he nearly shook with repressed rage when he monologued on Pan, when he had to interact directly with him his lines were spoken with an iciness that gave new meaning to the words 'cold read'.

Bart on the other hand stumbled at first, but as they moved further into the script found his footing. Despite the cast's initial irritation, by the end of the reading the rest of the cast was beginning to smile in anticipation of his comic lines.

For Bob, it was an exercise in containment. Though the cast was solid, he could barely register his surroundings as he focused solely on getting through the reading with his sanity intact. That being said, he couldn't help but feel surprised by Bart's delivery. He'd expected a mess, interruptions, digressions, but the boy - The man, he reminded himself, had been surprisingly professional. Though, it was hard to say how much of his performance was in character and how much was intended purely to taunt him.

\---

While he had been keeping tabs on him for awhile, (considering their history Bart thought it was a pretty reasonable thing to do.) seeing Sideshow Bob in person after so many years was still jarring. As he walked in late he forced himself not to scan the room for the man, but recognized the flash of red hair. Making a point not to stare, he instead addressed the director. He knew it was bad form to show up late to the first rehearsal, and it only compounded his nervousness about the whole situation. Still, he tried to affect a casual air.

The director pulled him aside. She didn't question him further about his lateness, though clearly displeased. A short, bespectacled man stood to her right, his eyes narrowed at Bart.

"Bartholomew Simpson. Glad you could make it." She said, sternly.

"Yeah. Really sorry about this. Eva Colt, right? My sister's a big fan." He smiled sheepishly.

"Yes. Rick here will get you up to speed on what we've covered. You'll have to make introductions on your own time." With that she walked away, approaching some other crew members. 

Rick handed Bart a short stack of papers and curtly explained the schedule and various policies, putting special emphasis on attendance and sick days. Bart was having a bit of trouble paying attention, as he currently had a direct sightline to Bob. His eyes darted over to catch the man looking in his direction, but thankfully he didn't think Bob noticed. 

He looked less frightening than he'd remembered, though still cut a tall and imposing figure. He was gaunter, and had an overall tired look about him. Strangely, Bob didn't look much older than when he'd tried to murder Bart on a houseboat, but he supposed as a terrified twelve-year-old his perception hadn't been too clear. He was looking somewhat professorial in an olive vest over a dress shirt, his iconic palmacae hair tied back.

Reconsidering, if Bob was looking at him, he might as well send him a message. Locking eyes, he grinned. _I'm not scared of you, you son of a bitch._

Bob, seeming to sense his gaze, looked back at him. He thought he saw a look of shock on his face for a split second before his expression darkened. He quickly rose to his feet and exited the room. His expression may have become placid, but the look in his eyes was more than a little frightening. Still, Bart counted it as a victory.

Rick, noticing his distraction, asked pointedly, "Alright, that should cover it. Do you have any questions for me?"

Bart mentally shook himself. "No, gotcha, thanks a bunch, man." 

Rick gave one short nod in response before walking off to rejoin Ms. Colt. Bart got the feeling he wasn't making a great impression.

\---

When rehearsal finally came to a close Bob heaved a long sigh and prepared to make his way back to his apartment. He was one of the first to leave the room, making a beeline for the parking lot as soon as he got outside. He was about halfway to his black compact when he was interrupted by the sound of swift footfalls catching up to him. 

"So how's a homicidal maniac land a part in a theatrical production, anyway?"

He tensed, but took a moment to regain a tranquil expression before spinning around to face his pursuer.

"I don't know, Bart, how does a small-time delinquent go about it? He replied, airily.

"My delinquent days are over, Sideshow." Bart put up his hands, as if to display their innocence.

"I've turned over a new leaf, you ought to try it sometime."

"Mr. Terwilliger will do fine. And I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about." said Bob, continuing his path to the car.

"Really, Bob? We're gonna do this? You and I both know that we aren't here because of some zany coincidence. You planned this."

"This may come as a bit of a shock to you, Bart, but the world doesn't center on you. I'm here to perform, _you_ are just an unpleasant obstacle in my path. Now if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do with my evening than entertain your paranoid delusions." He stepped into the car, slamming the door behind him.

The _nerve._

\---

Here to perform? That was rich, Bart huffed as pedaled home. Personal vendettas aside, what would posses Bob to appear in Peter Pan? Wasn't it a bit beneath his dignity? Although, thinking back, he supposed that was all this had started. Sideshow Bob had framed Krusty just so he could take over his lousy kid's show, looking to educate the children of Springfield. It sounded like a lofty goal, but Bart was pretty sure it had more to do with narcissism than anything. The guy just loved the spotlight.

Unbidden, something hazily came back to him.

_"Treat children as equals! They're smarter than you think!"_

Bob had said something to that effect the first time he'd been dragged into a police car, hadn't he? It was so long ago.

So, maybe the idea of Bob appearing in Peter Pan wasn't so ludicrous. While Bart had been wary of the show when Lisa mentioned it, once he had actually read the script he'd been pleasantly surprised to see the playwright had added a bit more grit to the story. It was darker than he'd expected, and delved more into the implications of what it meant to 'never grow up', and the fate of the lost boys, who'd been coaxed away from their mothers with promises of adventure. There was an element of pagan trickster and christian devil in this Pan, and it drew Bart to the role.

Robert had certainly put on a good show for the run through. Grudgingly, Bart had to admit, the man had presence. He was a stern authoritarian as Mr. Darling, but he really shone as Captain James Hook. He was eerily suited for the role. His voice, naturally musical and lilting, could plunge at a moments notice into a rich baritone. Bart couldn't be sure how much was genuine emotion and how much was acting. There were moments that Bob seemed to relish a bit too much. Bart remembered a particular line with a chill,

"Twas he who severed my arm. I have waited long to shake his hand with _this._ " at this point he had paused dramatically, before purring in a low, quiet breath "Oh, I shall tear him."

He hadn't even looked at Bart as he said it, but even now in the sunlight, he shivered at the recollection. He didn't even notice he was running a red light until he was halfway through the intersection. The blare of a car horn pierced his ear drums.

Bart shook himself. Not much use speculating at this point, anyway. Bob was there, for whatever reason, and at this moment Bart's energy was better spent avoiding traffic than stewing over his ex-stalker's motivations. He'd keep an eye out, and when Bob did finally betray his motivation, he'd be one step ahead of him.

\---

As he was caught in traffic on his way home, Bob nearly hit a distracted cyclist who raced through the intersection without any regard for the light. Catching sight of him as he pedaled speedily away, he recognized a head of spiky blonde hair. "A flat tire", he'd told the cast. 

Bob smiled to himself. Perhaps there was some latent fear in the boy yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Still chugging away on this, but I really would love a beta, or someone to bounce ideas around with. Oh, and if you're out there and actually leaving this, drop me a comment or a kudos or somethin', I just wanna know if you're out there or if I'm yelling in an empty room. I think either way, I'll try to keep going. It's a fun experiment. I may go back and edit this chapter and the first, I know they're far from perfect, but I'm trying to update not too infrequently.

As the week passed, Bart noticed Bob seemed significantly less on edge than at the first rehearsal. He was even beginning to smile a bit, though not at him, of course. Eva Colt was quite the taskmaster, with her lackey Rick never far behind. They were rehearsing mostly ensemble scenes, though there'd been a bit of one on one with Wendy. Thursday they worked on the characters' initial meeting scene where she stitched on Peter's shadow. Erika was a bit intense, but kind, and very forgiving of mistakes. Bart was having trouble keeping up. He'd never been in anything this large-scale before, and between memorization, vocal training, and keeping vigilant of Sideshow Bob, the stress was starting to get to him.

Worse, Bob was proving to be a thoroughly skilled performer (no surprise there, he supposed) and seemed more at ease with each passing day. Somehow his nonchalance was even scarier than his earlier iciness. Bart felt self-conscious performing with him in the room. When it came time for a break, Erika caught up with him. 

"Hey, is everything alright?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"What? Yeah, no, I'm good." Bart replied.

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to pry, you just seemed kind of distracted today and I just wanted to make sure nothing was um. Up, or anything." Erika said hesitantly.

"No, I just had a late night, that's all." He wasn't lying. He'd been tossing and turning at night for what felt like forever, and what little energy he had left was spent scrutinizing Bob's every move. Today, for example, he noticed Bob's compact black car was not in the parking lot, and as he biked past some pedestrians that morning he'd sworn he'd seen a flash of red hair in his peripheral vision.

"Gotcha. Yeah, I mean, these first few days of rehearsal, you can just have so much buzzing around in your head. I remember this one production of The Tempest, back in my senior year, and I was so psyched up about it, and then I was also in this weird legal thing with my landlord because my place had bedbugs, and he wanted me to pay for the exterminator. Aw man, it was crazy. I didn't sleep at all. And then I was just staggering around rehearsal like a zombie. It was bad. Do you have bedbugs or something?"

"Haha, no. Different kind of pest." Bart said without thinking.

Erika's face lit up with delighted surprise. "It's Hook, isn't it! Oh my god, I knew it! You two kept looking at each other, I could tell! What is up with that?!"

Bart's face contorted a bit as he tried to think of a response. If people in the big city weren't familiar with the Sideshow Bob story he was content to keep it that way. He didn't really feel like fielding a thousand questions about his childhood trauma, or whatever people would call it.

"We uh, we were in a show together before. And it didn't go so well. I was hoping I wouldn't run into him again, but then the cast list was announced." He lied, carefully.

"Oh! Right, I get it. What was it?" Erika was clearly interested.

"Huh?"

"What was the show?" She asked expectantly.

"Oh. Uh. HMS Pinafore." _That wasn't so far from the truth._

"Ah, oh man I love Pinafore! What was his part? I bet he played the Captain, right? That is such a great character, I saw that show in Minneapolis, once, and the guy who was playing… Oh, sorry, getting off track again. So you two don't get along, then? Ah. Sorry! Stop me if I'm being too nosy!" she suddenly interrupted herself. 

"No, it's fine. Um. Yeah." Bart was thankful Erika did most of the talking for him.

"I'm sorry, that sucks. But I mean, it can be a small industry, it happens, right?" She offered hesitantly.

"I guess. I just wish we didn't have to be in the same room all the time, y'know?" he grimaced.

"That bad, huh? Like, you don't think you two could just get coffee and talk it out?"

Bart snorted at the idea. "Haha, no! Don't think so. Guess we'll both just have to deal with it."

"I mean, he seems at least like a pretty professional guy. And working on a show like this, you're going to be spending a lot more time together, believe me. Maybe you just need to get things out in the air?" She pressed on.

"We'll see." Bart replied, noncommittally. 

\---

He would absolutely not be getting coffee with Bob, but Erika had given him an idea. Maybe if he tailed Bob after work, he'd be able to get a better sense of what he was plotting. He could certainly do with the peace of mind, his paranoia was affecting his performance. Bart resolved that after rehearsal, he'd follow Bob for a bit, see exactly what was occupying his free time.

Part of him wanted to talk to someone about this whole mess, but he hadn't even told Lisa about Sideshow Bob yet and he knew if his family found out they'd demand he quit the production. He really didn't want to worry them,besides, he was sure he could handle this himself. They'd find out eventually, of course, but right now he was stressed enough without having to try to explain to his mom why he was voluntarily appearing in a play with a man who'd made multiple attempts on his life.

 

He hadn't exchanged a word with Bob out of character since the first day of rehearsal, though he'd caught Bob staring at him several times. He wasn't boring holes into him the way he had the first day, but was instead looking at him with detached interest. Bart could't stand the dread of not knowing what he was thinking. 

He dawdled with his things after rehearsal that day, waiting for Bob to leave. Erika invited him to grab a quick dinner with her and Jessica, the girl playing Tigerlily, but he told them he was dead tired and going straight home to sleep. Finally Bob left the room, slipping in a pair of earbuds as he walked out. Bart waited a moment more before walking stealthily out to the parking lot, taking cover against the building to watch Bob from a distance. Though he hated to leave his bike in the rehearsal room, his feet carried him forward, as if in a trance. He followed Bob, always keeping about two blocks behind. Some distant part of him realized that this was a terrible idea, but after so many sleepless nights his brain was functioning at half-capacity.

It was a pleasantly warm and breezy day, and the trees were beginning to bud, but Bart hardly took notice. He'd had a few close calls, and had to duck behind buildings and at one point shrubbery. He was intensely relieved when Bob finally turned in to a little cafe. He was not intensely relieved that this particular cafe was only about ten blocks from his own apartment. _Hallowed Grounds._ He hadn't actually been in, though he'd passed by it several times before. It was one of those places he always promised himself he'd go in sometime, but never got around to. He tried to act casual as he approached, looking through the window for any sign of Bob. He couldn't see him, he must have been further inside. Bart hesitated at the door before squaring his shoulders and stepping in.

The place was cozily decorated in avocado and earth tones. A case by the counter displayed some homemade looking baked goods. There were some eclectic chairs and tables arranged, and he could see steps leading up to a second level. Bob must have been up there. 

 _God, this was such a stupid fucking idea._ Bart noticed the barista looking at him expectantly, and taking a moment to look at the artfully written chalkboard menu he ordered an iced chai. After retrieving his tea he began slowly towards the short flight of steps. He tried to scope it out as much as he could before getting to the top. He saw bookshelves, leather couches, a few hipsters and college kids, along with some fashionably dressed middle aged folks, but no sign of Bob.  

How was that possible? Had he noticed Bart following him and climbed out the window? He scanned the room again. He did notice one empty table with a mug and a leather-bound book sitting on it. That must have been Bob. He was in the bathroom, that was all, he hadn't developed the ability to teleport, Bart reassured himself. Edging a bit closer, he tried to discern the title of the book. _Steppenwolf?_

Bart recognized the name from one of Lisa's many reading assignments back in high school. _Ugh, how lame. Of course Bob would be reading some stuffy textbook._ It looked to be a pretty old hardback copy, too. _He couldn't just carry a paperback like everyone else._ Bart rolled his eyes. Looking around quickly, he picked it up, opening to a random page. Lisa had probably talked about it when she was reading it, but Bart couldn't remember anything particular. The title made him wonder if it was some sort of horror story.

 _“A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal and sterile life.I have a mad impulse to smash something, a warehouse, perhaps, or a cathedral, or myself, to commit outrages, to pull off the wigs of a few revered idols...”_  

 _Yeah, that seemed about right for Bob. Pretentious enough, anyway. Not so conservative as he might have expected, though._  

"Adding thievery to your resume as well, Bart Simpson? Tsk. tsk. That's a first edition of the English translation, you know." Bart was nearly dropped the book at the sound of the familiar voice.

Oh my god, how had he not seen Bob coming?! He'd been keeping one eye on the bathroom door, how had he managed to catch him red-handed? Bart was mortified. He stumbled for a lie, and decided to take Bob's helpful suggestion.

"Yeah well, I saw it lying on the table and I thought it looked like I might be able to hawk it for some quick cash. Some chumps'll pay a lot of money for shit like this." _Ugh. That was so weak._

"Chumps with impeccable taste, perhaps. I take it you're familiar with Herman Hesse?" Bob brushed him off, unruffled by his rudeness.

"Oh yeah, totally. Dead white guy, right?" 

"Integral part of the German literary canon?" 

"Right, _kinky_ dead white guy. Gotcha."

Bob seemed caught off guard, and let out a small laugh. He didn't seem at all surprised to see Bart. _Shit, he must have known he was following him. This was so awkward, how was he going to get out of the hole he'd dug?_

"So, apart from petty theft, what brings you to this humble alcove?" Bob inquired, smiling politely. _As if he didn't know._

"I come here all the time," He replied defensively, "It's in my neighborhood." _Shit, shit! He didn't mean to tell Bob where he lived!_  

"Yes, it's a charming little refuge, don't you think? Funny, I frequent it myself, yet I don't think I've seen you here before." Bob settled into a comfortable chair facing the table, and gestured towards the seat across from him.

God, Bart hated his air of civility. It was like having a conversation with an old acquaintance at a party, instead of with a convicted felon who'd tried to murder him a million times. Still, he hadn't called Bart on following him, and he was grateful he didn't have to admit to it. If he ran off now, it would only prove he was lying.

"Well, we probably keep different hours." Bart replied lamely.

"You know, I never would have guessed that a place like this would appeal to a man of your… tastes." Bob looked smugly amused.

"Yeah, well, guess there's a lot you don't know about me, huh, Sideshow?" he shot back.

Something dangerous flashed across Bob's eyes, but still smiling serenely, he replied, 

"Yes, well now that you mention it, I have been wondering how you began your career in the theatre. I'm sure it's quite the story." Bob looked at him over tented fingers, his elbows resting on the table.

"Not really. I just realized that it's a great way to piss people off." 

Bob creased his brow, staring at him in bemusement. "How so?"

"Well, mostly what I do is more experimental shit. I like seeing the looks on the faces of the audience when they realize what they've signed up for. They get real worked up about it, it's a riot." _There, that ought to annoy him._

 

"Oh, a pioneer of the avant-garde, eh? I suppose that shouldn't surprise me. Did you study, then?" Bob leaned toward him in genuine curiosity. Of course Bob would ask if he'd studied, and he was half tempted to tell him he'd gone to Harvard, just to piss him off.

 

"Yeah, went to school for a bit, but then I decided to go the practical experience route." He fully expected Bob to meet this information with a haughty scoff. Instead, Bob was looking at him like a particularly baffling piece of abstract art. It was a bit strange being the object of Bob's focus. He felt suddenly self-conscious. 

"Yes, well there's something to be said for that. But what was it that sparked your interest?" 

"Oh, I dunno, man. I took an improv class in high school and I guess it kinda clicked. Easy A, anyway." Bart felt suddenly sheepish. Bob was still looking at him intently.  

"I can see that. You always were a quick-witted youth." He paused. "Perhaps a bit too quick, even." 

"Well, what can I say? You can't sheist a sheister."

"O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath." Bob quoted blithely. At least, it sounded like a quote, the way he said it. Was that Shakespeare? More importantly, was that a compliment? Bart made a mental note to google it later. 

"Yeah well, I work out." Apparently this was the right thing to say, from Bob's reaction it seemed Bart had actually managed to get under his skin. _He_ was _looking pretty great today, wasn't he?_

\---

Of course he knew Bart had been following him. When you'd served as many sentences as Robert Terwilliger, you learned quickly to be aware of your surroundings. Maybe he should have been angry about the invasion of his privacy, but strangely he was actually feeling a bit… Guilty? He'd noticed, he'd have to have been blind _not_ to notice, how shaken the boy had been at rehearsal. How bizarre it was, to see the cocky, obnoxious little bastard looking so beaten down and unsure of himself. And while this should have been a triumph, something about it felt… Abnormal. It just shouldn't be. Bart was an unshakable, sadistic sprite who always bounced back, ready with a jaunty remark and a plan to foil his schemes. Whatever _this_ was… It was just sad.

Was he really that afraid of him, after all this time? Did he really think that after ten years he'd have found nothing else to do with his life? But perhaps he'd underestimated the mark he'd left on the young man's psyche. He'd always seemed so resilient, but looking back, how could any child have gone through what he'd been through without some collateral trauma? Sure, the boy was intelligent and precocious, but that didn't preclude him from vulnerability. He was beginning to see their entire history in a new light, and he wasn't enjoying the sensation. 

After rehearsal Bob made his way to his favorite cafe, hoping a drink and a good book would settle his nerves. When he noticed a certain someone following him, he decided not to let on. Seeing him about his normal routine might help allay the boy's fears.Besides, It was oddly flattering the little snag would spend his time off tailing him. His life certainly hadn't been this exciting in a while, and while he would never admit it, it did make him feel rather important. The cafe, _Hallowed Grounds_ was comfortable and well-decorated, and while it did good business, its atmosphere was much calmer and less crowded than a chain coffee shop. 

Ordering a Cafe Miel and settling in to his preferred spot, he calculated the distance between himself and Bart. Making an estimation, he left his book on the table and stepped into the hall leading to the bathroom. If the boy did follow him in, he'd get the jump on him.

Sure enough, he found the impudent youth paging through his book. He was amused by the juxtaposition. If Bart actually bothered to read (Though, at this point, who was to say? He certainly hadn't expected to find his old nemesis in the dramatic arts.) he might have found some common ground with Harry Haller, the titular Steppenwolf. Bart was, after all, a textbook iconoclast. He watched in amusement as Bart flipped to a page and scrutinized the text.

"Adding thievery to your resume as well, Bart Simpson?" The look of panic on Bart's face was priceless. What was life for if one couldn't enjoy small pleasures?

As enjoyable as it would be, best not to intimidate the boy too badly. Turning up the charm, he kept the tone of the conversation light, hoping to draw him in.

 _"Kinky dead white guy" indeed. A little on the nose, in fact_. He wondered what page Bart had turned to. 

He didn't have to manufacture interest in the boy's career path, though. He was really burning with curiosity as to how he'd broken into the arts. Predictably, Bart got a bit defensive at his question. _Bart in improvisation._ That did make sense, the boy was if anything, fast on his feet. 

"You always were a quick-witted youth." He paused. "Perhaps a bit too quick, even." 

"Well, what can I say? You can't sheist a sheister." Bart shrugged.

"O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath." The quote drifted through his mind and past his lips without thinking. _Where had that come from? Well, technically_ The Merchant of Venice _, but why had he said it?_

"Yeah well, I work out." Bart smirked, raising an eyebrow. _Lucifer's beard, of course he'd take it_ that _way. Damnit. He did look good in that V-neck._

 "It wasn't a compliment. You merely reminded me of the line. It's Shakespeare, which you might have known if you took your craft more seriously."  

"Hey, I recognized it. And I do take it seriously! I'm not only an actor, I work on other stuff too, y'know. I'm more than just a pretty face." Bart was grinning, now, and he'd actually taken the seat across from Robert.

 _Conceited little bastard, wasn't he?_ "Oh, really? Do tell."

"Well, just over a month ago I co-directed and acted in the world premiere of _H.P. Lovecraft's_ _Reanimator: the Musical._ Touching stuff, I'm sure you'd have loved it. We really did the finale justice, four separate organ puppeteers and the mood lighting was killer."

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar." Bob replied innocently. Though it did sound exactly like the sort of play Bart Simpson would put on.

"Yeah, well, it's pretty cutting edge material, you probably wouldn't have heard of it. Shame though, I can totally see you as the Dean." 

Robert narrowed his eyes. He expected that was some sort of insult. "Well, good on you. Glad to hear you've found your calling. I'm sure Springfield is missing you terribly."

"Well, I couldn't keep up my despotic reign forever. Gotta pass on that gauntlet sometime. I'm sure there are plenty of eager little shits lined up to take my place." Bart replied modestly.

"I shudder to think."  

"Bet it's been rough without you, though, Bob. Can't be that many triple threats left in Springfield." He paused. 

"Y'know. Singing, acting and homicide?" 

"I never actually followed through with it, you know." Bob replied. 

"There will always be a criminal element in Springfield, but I'm afraid the citizens will have to do without my cultural guidance." Bob took a long sip from his coffee before setting it down resolutely."I've given up on them for good." 

"Yeah, I suppose organic farming is more your speed." 

He furrowed his brow. _How did Bart know about that?_

"New England was a nice change of pace, yes. One can only breath Springfield's sweet, irradiated air for so many years before longing for a less... carcinogenic environment." 

"Says the smoker. No fond feelings for the good old days, then?" Bart teased.

"No." he said, flatly. "I think we can both agree some things are better left in the past." Already the wheels in his head were turning. _Had Bart been keeping tabs on him?_

"Sure. Well, it's been real, Bob. Have fun reading your German wolf smut or whatever." Bart rose from his chair, announcing his departure.

"I will, thank you. Do bike safely, you wouldn't want another flat tire. It would be such a terrible shame if you were late to rehearsal again." Bob called after him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Come Monday morning, Robert entered rehearsal feeling cautiously hopeful. They were to begin choreography for the sword fight between Pan and Hook. This would mean sword and stage combat training, which was familiar territory for him, but would be a nice refresher. It had been a long time, and it was something he'd always enjoyed, having been on the fencing team at Yale. If he had to have one on one time with Bart, at least he'd have one element of the interaction under control.

He hoped he'd managed to put his old adversary at ease to some degree, but time would tell. 

The fight director seemed competent, which was a relief. A bald, bearded man, he introduced himself as Anthony Fortel. As he shook their hands he gave them each a serious, appraising look. 

"I like to get in as much hands on time as possible, so I'm going to keep the introductions brief. Have either of you had any previous experience with stage combat?" 

Bart looked down sheepishly. "Sort of. But um, nothing really professional."

"That's fine, just getting a reading. We'll start from the beginning. You?" He turned to Robert.

"Yes. I've had experience in a number of productions. Before that, I fenced, actually." 

"Then you'll know that fencing and fighting on stage are completely different."He replied brusquely. 

"Yes, of course." Bob defended, quickly. 

Fortel began his lecture as he lead the two into a smaller, separate rehearsal room. It was clear he had made it many times. 

"In stage combat, nothing is improvised. It requires absolute coordination and cooperation between two partners… When you attack your partner, they should never need to block your attack to avoid being hit. You make your target just off your partner, and they block only to meet your attack. Where that block is made is a point that you have already decided on together. Unlike a sport, where you try to disarm your partner, in stage combat the entire point is to make your partner look good." 

_Now that would be an interesting reversal._

"Combat is a dance which engages the entire body, so before we work with swords, we'll begin with posture and footwork."

For the better part of two hours Fortel went over concepts, stances, and distance with them. A good chunk of that time was spent on correcting Bart, though Robert was surprised to find himself henpecked a few times. Fortel was blunt and unafraid to get hands on when adjusting posture and positioning. Whenever he noticed a mistake he'd click his tongue sharply before swooping in. While he was a little startled, Bart was clearly on edge. Robert was trying very hard not to laugh as Bart twitchily endured his back, chest and limbs to be prodded and relocated. 

When it was finally time for a break, Bart was clearly ruffled. Robert may have been a little tired himself, but he had his composure. They both went directlyfor the water cooler in the break room. Bart tossed his bag onto a couch and beat Robert to the cooler with a second to spare. He took swig of water from his paper cup. As Robert reached for one himself, Bart cut in and refilled his own. Mildly irritated, Bob asked,

"Having fun, are we?"

Bart glared back. "I'm fine. I suppose you love being assaulted by a handsy owl."

"Owls don't have hands, but I see what you're implying. It's entirely normal in fight instruction, you know. Honestly I'm surprised to hear you're so sensitive." Bob replied, examining his fingernails.

"I'm not. I'm just not used to it yet. Not all of us had fencing lessons at Harvard."

"Yale, actually."

"Whatever, same thing."

Bob bit back a protest. He changed the subject.

"You enjoyed your weekend, then? Have any more clandestine encounters in coffee shops?"

"Is that what you're calling it? I didn't know it meant so much to you, Bob, I'm flattered." Bart sneered.

 _Says the man who followed him there._ "Yes, well, I'm afraid we can't all lead such glamourous lives as your own, Bart. A young ingenue, living it up in the city of wind and meat-processing…"

"So why'd _you_ come here, then? The club scene?" Bart shot back.

"The drug market, primarily. But I suppose the city has its own unique charms. You meet the most lovely people." Bob answered with mock enthusiasm.

"Sure. At the Yacht Club?"

"Why, do you doubt my sincerity? Just the other day I was waiting under the bus stop when a fellow gave me the most delightful suggestion, what was it he said? Oh yes, 'Go burn in the sun, faggot!'We both had a good laugh."

Bart snorted at that. "Right, because New England is so forward thinking."

"I'm not attempting to draw any sort of comparison. Only making conversation. Do you find the city suits you?" 

"Well, it's better than Springfield, that's sure as shit." 

"Really, Bart? A metropolitan? Here I thought you were a man of the people. How wounded would your hometown be, to hear you denounce them so?"

"Yeah, I'm sure it would really break their hearts, seeing as we all got along so well to begin with." Bart replied.

 _Interesting._ Bob was silent for a moment.

"Well, at least we have that in common." 

\---

Bart couldn't decide what was worse. The humiliation of being caught red-handed following Bob, or the sheer frustration at how totally… Normal the whole encounter had been. He'd been distracted all weekend, stewing about it, with no one to talk to. Anyone who didn't know their history would think Bart was the freak for following Bob around. 

And maybe even worse than that, talking to Bob had almost, been… Pleasant? Like, what the fuck?

So, clearly there was only one logical course of action. He'd just have to push Bob until he finally snapped and revealed his true nature. Surely it wouldn't take too long, and then Bob would be thrown out of the production and replaced so Bart could finally get some goddamn sleep. Bart was spending his spare time plotting potential ways to drive him to his breaking point. He'd go full elementary school bully if he had to.

On top of all of this, Monday was their first day of combat rehearsal. The thought of Bob, the experienced fencer, jabbing at Bart with nothing but a flimsy rod of metal to defend himself with did nothing to relieve his anxiety. 

When they met Fortel, the fight choreographer, Bart was happy to see that he at least didn't seem charmed by Bob. Fortel, though only a little taller than Bart himself, had a way of looking at everyone like a hawk looking down its beak at a rodent. Intense, even a little petrifying. Looks like he took after Eva Colt in the being a total-hardass department, but that could be a good thing. There was no way in hell Bob was stabbing him with this guy around. He'd have to wait until after-hours.

Despite the risk of impalement, Bart was pretty excited he was going to get to use a sword. He'd always wanted to learn fencing. It looked badass, even if a stuck-up prick like Bob was into it. He was itching to get started, so the lecture and footwork were a real downer. Especially since he's been running on minimum sleep and shitty home-brewed coffee for so long. If he could just get a sword in his hand he was sure he'd be better, he'd be focused. As it was, he kept losing track of what Fortel had told him and getting corrected, often physically. Could it get any more embarrassing? Getting manhandled in front of his arch-enemy? He supposed it could be worse. He could be getting manhandled _by_ his arch-enemy. His lips twisted in amusement at the thought as Fortel pushed his left leg to point outward. He couldn't bare to look at Bob during any of this. He was certain the man's eyes would be shining with barely repressed laughter. He thought some of Bob's coughing sounded a bit suspicious.

By break time he was feeling thoroughly done with the whole day. Hell, the whole production. To make matters worse, Bob was heading in the same direction he was. Fuck if he was going anywhere else though, that would be admitting defeat. To his great irritation Bob started talking to him. Bart managed to get in a few good jabs that he hoped would shut him up. He was particularly proud of the Harvard comment, he knew how much the ivy-leaguers loathed being mistaken for one another.

Why did Bob keep talking to him anyway? Was he trying to put him at ease before he cut his throat? It made sense he supposed, but did he have to be so… Smarmy about it? Why didn't he just confront him about following him to the cafe? Surely he couldn't be trying to spare his pride. It was a game, he supposed. He was probably trying to trick Bart into admitting it on his own. 

He seemed surprised by Bart's comment about Springfield. He paused before responding, and when Bart turned around to reply, he was gone. _Drama queen._

When they returned from break, Fortel finally gave them their rapiers. He was going on about balance and weight, demonstrating with his own rapier, while Bart was feeling the surprisingly hefty blade. He'd expected something flimsier, but this thing had to be some sort of heavy metal. 

"Hey, Anthony, what exactly is this thing made of?"

"Steel." he responded dismissively. He opened his mouth to continue but Bart interrupted. 

"Isn't that kinda dangerous?"

"It's actually the safest option. If the blades we used were made of a weaker material, they might break or splinter on impact, which would actually create much more of a hazard." He explained, annoyed. "That being said, if you were to strike or block hard enough, these blades could also be broken. Stage combat is by nature, dangerous. That's why it's so vital to pay attention to technique." Fortel put extra emphasis on the last sentence.

"Right. Gotcha." Bart decided from this point onward to keep the questions to a minimum. To his chagrin, it turned out the next part of the lesson was a continuation on footwork, but this time while balancing a blade in one hand. As they practiced Tondo cuts, Fortel told them to "Remember the three P's. Point your elbow at the target, push the pommel until your arm straightens, and then engage the point of the sword to the target with only your wrist." _The guy really had a way of enunciating._

 "Bart, you're trying to hit a specific target, not chop down a tree. Watch Robert for a moment." _Ugh, did he have to?_

"Robert, would you please demonstrate a tondo cut to my left flank?"

"With pleasure." Bob respond, clearly gratified. For such a lanky man, he moved with surprising grace. He sliced quicklyat Fortel, and Bart winced, but he stopped the blade about three inches from touching the instructor.  

"Thank you, but slower, please. Bart, I want you to watch the motion of the wrist." Robert repeated the cut, more slowly this time, as Bart looked on. Bob must have been loving this.

"You see, the point of the sword meets the target location with that final movement of the wrist? That's where the precision comes in, and precision in stage combat is absolutely vital."

Bart was grateful to go back to his own motions. Even Fortel moving his arms around like a pose-able action figure was better than having to watch Bob's flawless demonstrations. _Of course he's good with weapons, he's a fucking murderer._ Bart consoled himself. He grit his teeth and continued practicing.

"There, that's a marked improvement. It will get better, eventually you'll develop muscle memory." Fortel observed. 

When they finished for the day, he was almost as tired as he was frustrated. He stewed quietly as he gathered his things.

"See you tomorrow," Bob remarked pleasantly as he walked out. Bart didn't reply.

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, long time no write! So, I've decided I want to try to keep working on this, with gratitude to all you lovely folks leaving kudos and my dear lone wolf commenter. As always, I'm very open to constructive criticisms and corrections if you have them, and still searching for a beta or someone to bounce ideas off if anyone is interested. Cheers!


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